Sand Castles
by raileht
Summary: Who says you can have everything?


**Sand Castles**  
by: raileht  
**  
****Summary:** Who says you can have everything?  
**Disclaimer: **The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
**Rating: **T, to be safe  
**Spoilers/Timeline:** post-series end with a lot of changes. Will try to stay in character as much as possible, but I won't promise anything.  
**Warning: **Bad words, angst and a whole lot of drama. Hey, it's a fanfic, who cares?

**Chapter Title taken from:  
**Boys Like Girls,  
_The Shot Heard 'Round the World_

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Chapter One: The Shot Heard 'Round the World

Calls that came at two in the morning were never good, not even for anyone who came from New York and moved to London so when Daniel Meade was jostled awake from his bed, he didn't hesitate to answer. Bleary eyed, he read the screen, almost startling himself awake when his mother's name was registered. Mentally he tried to count the time difference, if it was two in the morning in London, what time was it in New York?

He tried to count, couldn't. He'd always been bad at math, especially without any paper to solve on. Still, his mother had always been mindful of what time she called, always calling when it was convenient for _him_ to make sure she wasn't disturbing his sleep.

"Mom, what's wrong?" were the first words he managed to croak when he rolled out of bed, turning on the light on his bedside table, giving his room a soft illumination. It wasn't too bright, just enough for him to see the floor and not trip on anything.

"It's Wilhelmina," Claire began, her voice lacking the usual contempt and disdain her tone usually carried in her voice whenever she mentioned the woman and her name, "She's gone."

-o0o-

It was dark, it was late and she should really be asleep, but instead there she was, standing in the middle of the living room. The only source of light came from the roaring glass-encased fire on the fireplace that dominated the middle of the enormous room and everywhere she turned, she could see shadows.

She used to be scared of them, the shadows, because she thought there were things hiding behind them, monsters that would grab her the moment her mother closed her bedroom door at night. She used to cower, pulling up the covers up to her eyes, pretending they weren't there. She'd whimper and cry, curling her body tightly, wishing for things that could never be.

As a child, she'd been terrified of them, but even then, she knew she could not just go out and run into her parents' bedroom because their house wasn't like that. She wasn't supposed to enter her mommy and daddy's bedroom, not supposed to be up at night and, most of all, not supposed to be scared. Big girls, her father had said, did not get scared because only the weak got scared. She was a Slater, her father said, and a true Slater was _not _and could_ never_ beweak.

So instead, at the tender age of six, she whimpered under her heavy blanket, singing softly to herself with her eyes shut tightly, pretending she wasn't where she was, pretending there weren't monsters with long claws coming nearer and nearer, just waiting to snatch her from her bed and eat her.

As a grown woman, she didn't care and, in fact, spent most of her days in the comforts of her home filled with shadows. After all, she'd spent most of her life living in them. There were no monsters to be scared of, no claws waiting to hurt her and no bedroom down the hall taunting her because she could not enter those doors. She wasn't scared of the shadows anymore. There was no reason to be. In fact, she found comfort in them now. The shadows hid what she refused to see, what she didn't _want _to see and even when _she _did not want to be seen. If ever there was a monster in them, they were long gone.

And if she was honest with herself, which she was, most of the time, _she _was _that _monster.

Yes, the cowering little girl who hid underneath her blankets had grown and turned into the monster that gave _other_ people nightmares, that made them cower at the very sight of her, made them wish they were anywhere _but _in her presence. Yes, she was _that_ monster.

She didn't mind and, in fact, reveled in that feeling because she was more powerful that way and being a true Slater, _power _was _everything_.

-o0o-

Marc St. James sat curled up in his couch, eyes staring at the wall, blank and unseeing. For once, he was uncaring that his new Dolce & Gabbana suit was getting creased in his compact position and that his curls weren't properly arranged on his head. In the corner of the room, near the kitchen, Amanda Tanen Sommers, prepared her 'famous' Amandatinis—which was really just Tartini from Sex in the City under a different name—her last ditch effort to get her friend out of the walking coma he'd managed to slip into in the matter of ten hours.

If things had not gone downhill that day, by now they would have been slipping through the velvet ropes of the newest club in the city where they'd managed to score invitations, but that hadn't even entered the mind of the young stylist as she watched, with sad eyes, as her best friend sat unmoving. She'd tried her best to get him to cheer up, to help him get over everything that had gone down that day, but nothing had worked. Amanda, for all she was worth, hoped that eventually she would be able to find better ways to help her friend. For now, mixing drinks was all she could do.

"Marcia, would you like some?" she asked quietly, an unusual tone for the usually bubbly and/or sultry blonde. "I've got a batch ready now…"

On a normal day, the animated young man would have jumped at the chance and blabbed out the latest gossip from the office, but tonight, that wasn't happening. Instead, he remained curled up in his seat, hugging an expensive throw pillow to his chest and said in almost a whisper, "They were getting married."

Amanda, unable to take the sadness in his voice, abandoned her concoction and immediately went to his side, pulling his body close to hers. She lay his head on her chest, running her impeccably manicured nails through his dark curls all the way down to his nape, "I know, honey. I know."

"They were going to get married," he said again, in a heavily monotonous tone that worried her even more. "They were going to be happy…she was happy."

Her own heart breaking, the girl could only nod because, after everything, there really wasn't anything left to say. So instead of speaking and whispering words that would never do anything to console her friend, Amanda held him tighter, closing her eyes when she began to feel his warm tears on her skin.

Hearts were breaking in their world, but the only one Amanda could think to care about putting back together was that of her best friend's. His heart, to her immense sadness, was breaking in so many ways she had not foreseen it could break—she'd known he cared, but not quite this deeply.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way," he whispered. "Not like this..."

"I know, honey, I know," Amanda said softly, kissing the top of his head and held him closer.

If there was anything else left to say, she could not figure it out. The blonde wanted to console her friend badly, but for once, she couldn't find the words or anything to help him. Fashion or couture wasn't going to help this time, nor would drinks and getting drunk out of their minds. There was no easy fix for what was going on and she couldn't find any to help him and she was ashamed.

He'd always been there for her, her faithful best friend, even when she hadn't deserved it and now when this time it was _him_who needed _her_, she was at a loss. Her heart broke and she was beginning to hate herself for her failure. He deserved so much more than she could give.

Amanda, in her eyes, felt less than useless. What kind of crap friend was she?

Feeling him shudder against her slightly as he continued to cry soundlessly, Amanda began to run her fingers through his hair again, holding him close and never intending to let go until he was ready. She would stay there all night, holding him, if she had to.

After all, what else could she do?

-o0o-

_What are you doing?_

She remained standing in the middle of her living room, uncaring.

It was heavier than she remembered, colder now too because everything in her house was cold. She didn't mind, not at all, the cold was there but she barely felt it because she had turned truly numb now. She couldn't feel the warmth the roaring fire tried to bring forth to her and couldn't feel the cold that desperately tried to fight the heat that surrounded the rest of the house.

The weight in her hand was heavier than she remembered, she thought, shifting the heavy object in her hand as she held on to it. She was holding it tightly, so tight her knuckle had turned white, her fingers straining up to the point of spraining as she refused to relax her hold. Her long nails threatened to break under the pressure, but for once, she didn't care.

She wasn't letting go.

The object she held in her hand had tried to kill a Slater before and had, in fact, almost succeeded in doing so, but tonight was a different story. The person who had aimed the gun the first time around had been drunk, emotional, stumbling and just a little stupid. The near miss had been an accident, completely unintentional, but tonight…

Tonight was different.

Tonight, a Slater was going to die.

A _true _Slater.

-o0o-

"What do you mean gone?"

Daniel got up, pulling on the pajama bottoms he'd kicked off during the night, phone pressed to his ear. It had only been a few months since he'd left Mode and New York to pursue a different path in Europe. He'd ended up in London and had, of course, remained in touch with his former assistant Betty Suarez who was now an Editor in Chief of a magazine herself.

Daniel and Betty had tried to have dinner, but even then, things had felt strangely normal. Of course, not the normal they'd both silently hoped for, but after four years of his running with different women, losing his wife and her, in turn, falling in and out of love with a few good guys, pursuing something _more _between the two of them had seemed to impossible by then. Between Daniel and Betty, there were no more secrets, nothing left to discover and they'd grown too accustomed and too attached with each other.

It took less than a full dinner for them to give up and admit they were where they were supposed to be: friends. They loved each other, yes, and they always will, but it wasn't the kind of love that would end up being anything more and they were okay with that. It was always going to be a comfort for both, knowing that whatever happened, they would always have someone to call on no matter where, when or for what. They were each other's constant and that was even more precious than anything else.

Shaking his thoughts away from Betty, Daniel listened to his mother's answer, catching her words just in time.

"I mean, she hasn't come to work in two days," Claire answered, "She just disappeared. We've tried calling her, tried to come to her house—nothing. The issue has been put to bed but the next one is still on hold. She still has a deal to close with Timothy White, but we can't find her, Daniel."

"That's impossible," he answered, "Wilhelmina would never leave Mode hanging like that. Especially now that she's editor—"

"Yes, yes, Daniel," Claire said, "I've tried calling Marc—I had him check her house again this afternoon since he's the only one who has the keys, but even _he _has stopped taking my calls. I don't know what's going on, Daniel, but I'm going to her house myself. Whatever is going on with that woman…god."

"Mom, are you sure?" Daniel asked, sitting back down on his bed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe she just needs some down time…or, I don't know, maybe she met someone? She did the same thing when she was with that-that cowboy and Connor. She gets a little distracted."

"She hasn't been with _anyone, _Daniel," Claire said dryly. "Do you not remember the _Connor_ matter?"

Daniel's face involuntarily formed a grimace, "Connor? He's in jail."

"And do you think that would stop Wilhelmina Slater from being with the man she wants?" his mother answered and he could imagine that look on her face, daring him to just find an answer for that.

"And you're okay with that?" he asked, curious.

"Things are as okay between me and Wilhelmina as it possibly can," Claire began, "I am not about to rock that boat just because she's foolish enough to maintain a relationship with an incarcerated man. As long as she doesn't try and bring him back into the company, I don't care."

Daniel thought for a moment, "I guess that makes sense…anyway, maybe…mom, are you sure you're going to her place? Now? What time is it there?"

"It's only ten, dear," she chuckled, "I'm sorry for disturbing you. I know it's late, but I have Hot Flash to take care of, I cannot keep that _and _Mode by myself."

"Do you need me to go there?" he asked. "I'm not really doing anything here…not like I've found a job yet."

He heard his mother chuckle on the other end of the line, "Ah, yes, the job hunt. Betty mentioned that the other day."

He smiled, "Well, I'm glad that makes you laugh. It hasn't been exactly easy. The ones I've applied for either made me seem _too _qualified or not qualified enough."

"Well, there's always French Mode," Claire suggested, "I'm sure your sister wouldn't mind finding something for you…"

"Uh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I'd like something that hasn't been touched my anything Meade."

"In the fashion and publishing world, my darling, I have to tell you now _that _will be quite a feat."

"I know," he nodded, "But that doesn't mean I can't find something else to do. Who knows? I might just open a little place in…well, somewhere like Puget Sound."

"And what? Laze in the sun? Open a fishing shack?" he could hear his mother chuckling, "Oh, Daniel."

"You're making fun of me," he pointed out, "Not very nurturing, mother."

"I wasn't trying to—oh, wait," she stopped, "I'm in front of Wilhelmina's building now. Wish me—"

"Wait, stay on the line," Daniel interrupted her goodbye, "I want to know what's going on. It's not like Wilhelmina to miss work."

"But I disturbed you sleep, I'm sorry about that, by the way," his mother said. "I wasn't paying attention to the time as I should have."

"No, it's okay," Daniel replied, "Besides, I'm up already. Might as well find out firsthand what's going on. It's unlike Wilhelmina to drop off the grid like this."

"All right," his mother acquiesced, "Maybe _you _can talk to her, find out what exactly is going on. I mean, there's no love lost between me and that woman but even I can see something isn't right."

"Do I sense care in your voice, mother?"

"Watch your mouth," she scolded, "I'm merely doing this because god knows she's the only one fit to run Mode and keep us on top at the moment. She is despicable and immoral and yes, there are still days when I am tempted to drive a stake through her heart, _but _she _is _the best in the business…not that she'll ever hear _me _say that."

"You make it sound like I sent the company to hell," he said though his voice was playful. He'd long ago accepted that when it came to running Mode, Wilhelmina would always be better equipped compared to him.

"Of course not, my darling," his mother said. "I'm merely stating facts. Besides, you're not _in _Mode anymore, are you?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking around his room and suppressed a sigh.

Daniel heard the far echo of someone greeting his mother and asking about her briefly. She stated her name, who she came for and saying that no, she wasn't expected but she worked with _Miss Slater_.

"Expensive and most definitely overpriced, but we can't deny they're more thorough than other buildings I've encountered," his mother suddenly said into the phone. "Did you know they make people sign in when they enter this place? I don't recall doing this when I was here before…"

"Maybe it's a new policy," Daniel answered, "For safety or something like that. It's New York after all."

"With Wilhelmina as a tenant, you really think anything more dangerous can come to this place?" Claire remarked then paused, "You don't suppose Marc is here, do you? Or that she killed him and hid his body in her home…?"

"Marc? No, if Wilhelmina ever cared for anyone, it's Marc," he answered, remembering the days when she'd made his life miserable when he refused to give back her assistant. "Besides, if she wanted to kill anyone, well, there are a few more eligible people for that list."

"True, being that I'm one of them," she chuckled, "Now, I'm on the elevator, if I get cut off, I'll call you when—" his mother was saying before the line did indeed get disconnected without warning.

Daniel put his phone aside, waiting. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was only a little over two in the morning. He didn't mind, at least not now. He didn't have a job to go to in the morning and Betty would be in the office all day. He'd met a few people in the past few months and had even begun to be cordial with his neighbors, but he hadn't had anyone solid to hang out with yet.

There had been Clive Evans, but he'd been too much like his old friend Becks but Daniel liked to think he'd grown up somewhat enough to go and do the same thing all over again. Partying and hopping from one woman to another was hot and fun at twenty-five, but doing that in your mid-thirties was almost pathetic in Daniel's book, especially for someone like him. He'd buried a wife, loved and learned a few things already—turning back was more than _just_ a step backward.

He'd matured, with time and he wasn't ashamed to admit that.

And that was why he was in bed, waiting for his mother to call him again instead of being in Clarice Wincroft's bed, the woman Becks II had introduced to him. Clarice been gorgeous and more than a little interested but Daniel could recognize the usual signs: rich, spoiled and rebellious. She was at least five years younger than him with an irrepressible urge to stick it to her stuffy parents. Daniel wasn't in the mood, said no and two seconds later, she'd found someone else which was fine with him.

His phone began to ring again and this time, Daniel didn't hesitate to pick up.

"I'm at her door," her mother said, "Dear god, this place feels like a tomb… I felt the same way when I came here before. It never changes, but that could just be the Wilhelmina effect."

Daniel smiled, "I thought you were playing nice, mother."

"We're playing with _less _claws," she replied, "But that doesn't mean we've put it all completely away. How will we ever function otherwise, Daniel?" She paused, "Well…here goes nothing."

He heard her knock, softer then call out, "Wilhelmina? It's Claire. I'm—"

Daniel jumped when his mother's voice was cut off by a loud sound, "Mom…? MOM? Are you there?"

"Oh my god!" he heard her gasp and his heart stopped. "I'm here, Daniel," Claire answered shakily, "Oh my god…I-I almost dropped my phone….I-I…"

"What the hell was that? Was that a gunshot? Mom?"

"I-I don't know—it sounded like-like one, my god," she stuttered then suddenly Daniel could hear banging, "Wilhelmina? Open the door! Wilhelmina! DO YOU HEAR ME? WILHELMINA!"

"Mom, what the hell do you think you're doing? GET OUT OF THERE! Call someone else to take care of it!" Daniel demanded, standing up and began to pace. His body was still shaking after being caught off guard like that, after thinking his mother had been hurt. "Mom, I am not kidding! Get out of there RIGHT NOW!"

"Wilhelmina?" he heard his mother's distant voice call out and suddenly, the banging got louder, as if she was using her phone to bang on the door."OPEN THE DOOR! DO YOU HEAR ME? WILHELMINA!"

"MOM! LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW—GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE! MOM!" Daniel barely acknowledged the hysteria in his voice as, without thinking, he began to grab clothes from his closet, pulling out a pair of pants, a shirt and blindly reaching for where he thought he left his keys and wallet. "MOM! I am NOT kidding around! GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE _NOW_!"

His mother's voice calling out to her enemy and the sound of her fists banging on the door continued, ignoring her son's demands that she walk away. She didn't hear the fear in his voice, but he clearly heard the fear in hers and before Daniel could demand that she leave, the line was cut off.

"_MOM?"_

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Continue…?


End file.
